


Absolutely

by Deleaf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 04, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deleaf/pseuds/Deleaf
Summary: "John wouldn’t move back in. Of course, Sherlock hadn’t asked outright yet, but he had hinted.  And all he got was the affirmation that John...wouldn’t.What he couldn’t figure out was why."Rated Teen for mature language.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 143





	Absolutely

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains some adult language. Please be warned.

John wouldn’t move back in. Of course, Sherlock hadn’t asked outright yet, but he had _hinted_. And all he got was the affirmation that John...wouldn’t.

What he couldn’t figure out was _why_.

Baby proofing the flat became necessary in the past couple years, now that John was spending more time there with his offspring. The flat was fairly close to John’s workplace, and John liked being around him. He even trusted him with Rosie. The rent would be cheaper. But at the end of each day he visited, he would return home and Sherlock would spend the night on his experiments.

It would be easier if John stayed, Sherlock thought. For both of them.

But in order to convince John, he needed to find out what his reservations were. Maybe he was nervous about living with an ex-addict, despite the fact that Sherlock had been clean for two years now. Perhaps, he didn’t want to live in the upstairs bedroom with Rosie...but surely John must have realized that if he lived in another 221 apartment that wouldn’t be an issue. Sherlock would even move into 221C and John and Rosie could live upstairs! Maybe he was worried about the neighbourhood crime rates? That didn’t seem very _John_ ...and it wasn’t like many lower class criminals would go near _Sherlock’s_ family.

There was another reason. One that sent an awful feeling into his gut, one the detective dared not analyze. Maybe John didn’t want to be seen as raising a child with him. In this society...a romantic partner would usually fill the role.

And, of course, John was _not gay._

Sherlock wasn’t sure if he could bear that last response, but he knew he had to ask, or he’d never get closure.

John came that afternoon, as they’d planned. He was all smiles and bags of toddler supplies. He looked tired as he surveyed 221B. Which wasn’t to say the detective’s attention wasn’t immediately captured by the squirming toddler in his arms.

It most certainly was.

What had started as a scientific curiosity for the creature he hastily grabbed from John’s arms turned into something... _more._ In his sentimental moments, he would call it love. The sort one would have for an offspring, he supposed. He would wonder if Molly, and Mrs. Hudson, both godparents in their own right, also had such strong emotions for the girl.

He was utterly _besotted,_ and he had long since given up on hiding it.

“Well hello, my dear Rosamund!” Sherlock swung the child around and she laughed the way children do: bright and lovely. “I trust your father hasn’t been more of a grump than usual?”

“Not more than usual, no” John stood beside Sherlock, and grinned up at him.

Sherlock’s heart did a little dance.

“It’s good to see you well,” Sherlock announced, slightly awkward to his own ears.

John cleared his throat. “You too...So why did you bring me here?” John raised his eyebrows.

 _Right_.

“Perhaps it would be better if we asked Mrs. Hudson to take Rosie first.” Sherlock hadn’t expected John to bring Rosie. He often did without prior warning, after realizing how much Sherlock loved her presence. Today however, he wanted her to be away just in case he was upset by John’s response. Sherlock could usually control his emotions, but this time he was afraid he might just shut down and retreat into his mind. That wasn’t something he wanted his precocious goddaughter to see.

John, was clearly apprehensive at Sherlock’s remark--no doubt hoping for a relaxed social call despite the evidence his subconscious had likely gathered. The kind of evidence Sherlock’s conscious mind had realized he laid down.

 _Come over to mine whenever you can_ , his text had read. _I need to talk to you._

Sherlock breathed out through his nose as John disappeared downstairs. This could end badly.

By the time John had come back, sans Rosie, Sherlock had time to reevaluate his decision twelve times.

“Right,” John coughed, interrupting his thoughts. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?”

Sherlock bit his lip. “Sit,” he waved a hand vaguely at John’s chair. The act of them sitting in their chairs always brought him a sense of peace, like he was one half a whole.

John did, and looked at him expectantly.

Sherlock sat facing him and brought his hand up to rest his chin upon. “I wanted to ask you...that is...I was _wondering_...I was curious--”

“Sherlock,” John admonished. His eyes were soft. “It’s just me. Get it out.”

“Move in with me?” The words spilled out of his mouth unbidden. He swallowed and forced himself to look at John.

John wasn’t surprised, that was for sure, just...regretful. John’s eyes held pain in them. Not the pain from waking up too early in the morning, as he had clearly done. Nor the extra clinic hours he had pulled over the weekend if the clothing he wore, decidedly not his favourite, were any indication. No. This was something far deeper.

John breathed out steadily. “I can’t.”

Sherlock looked away from his friend. That stung. “Why not?”

“Shouldn’t me telling you that be enough?” John protested weakly, but there wasn’t any fight in his words. He closed his eyes and sighed. He shuffled back into his chair; clearly this was something that was bothering him. “When you died...because you _did,_ to me at least...it was hard. _Really hard_. I--you were my world--” his voice caught, and Sherlock could tell he was battling both anger and sorrow. He could not, however, tell where this was going.

“Hardly,” the detective responded. John’s word were getting a little to close to his feelings for his liking. “You had Mike, you had Molly--”

“I worked with you, I lived with you, I spent most of my free time with you,” John interrupted, apparently annoyed by Sherlock’s defensiveness. “Do you know what that does to a person, Sherlock? Do you know how _reliant_ I was on you? God knows why, you’ve always had a death wish. But it _hurt_ when you just--left me, a ship stranded at sea. I had _nothing_. I had no one. No one who truly understood.” As quickly as the turn of a die, a match was lit behind John’s eyes. He had risen from his chair and stood towering over Sherock. “And you know what, Sherlock? I got _through it_. Despite it all...but I can’t do it again.” His last words were a croak in his throat. He gazed down at the floor.

“You got past Mary.” Sherlock found himself saying. It was true, in a sense. John still grieved, but he had started living again. It didn’t make it right to say, but they were laying all of their cards out.

“That was different,” John muttered to his feet.

“Of course, my apologies. You were in love with her. That has to--”

John’s fire was back. His back straightened along with his mouth. “I was in love with you too!” he growled.

Sherlock and John just stared at each other for a moment. The fire in his eyes died, and was slowly replaced with mortification and a deep sadness. Sherlock’s heart beat in his chest as loud as drums. Tears filled John’s eyes and he crumbled to the living room floor. He backed into the side of his chair, like a scared animal.

“You never knew,” he spat. “You knew what I ate for breakfast--what I did at the clinic that day. You knew about Harry and her alcohol--but you never _fucking_ knew what was in front of you.” He sounded more self-loathing than anything else.

It took Sherlock’s brain a moment to come back online--but when it did, he found the courage to gingerly pick his way towards my friend.

“I’m sorry, John,” he said. “I never meant to cause you harm. I-I’m sorry.”

He looked up at the detective and swallowed. He seemed ready to say something, but Sherlock had to know something first.

“Do you still feel that way?” he managed.

John looked away and covered his face with his hands. He nodded.

If joy was what Sherlock felt earlier-- _this_ was pure elation, as if gods themselves had designed a drug to his humors. And how he desperately wished for them to exist. He would thank them a thousand times just to do something with all this happiness. And how Sherlock would pray that his next words would be the right ones.

“I love you too. And I promise I will try not to die. I do not have a death wish, not for so long as you and Rosie are alive and well.” Sherlock tried to speak as gently as I could, all the while prying his hands from their places on his face

John was shocked at Sherlock’s words. Something inside the detective was delighted at his incompetence. His deft air in emotional arenas had so often left Sherlock uncertain and bewildered.

“Really?” John seemed genuinely suspicious, and Sherlock laughed.

“Yes. Absolutely.” Sherlock gingerly took his friend’s hands to his lips and kissed them gently. “So,” the detective smiled. “Will you move in with me?” He fiddled with John’s fingers in his own.

The blogger paused and took a deep breath. In and out. “No,” he said with a sigh, and Sherlock’s heart sank. “Not yet,” John amended. “I have a daughter to think about. Especially with this...development...I can’t just move in with you now. We go out for a while and everything is still okay...I’ll think about it. You can come to mine, or me to Baker Street. We’ll figure something out.” John pursed his lips then gave a small smile. “I’m getting ahead of myself. What I’m trying to say is: will you go out with me?”

Sherlock grinned at his friend. Although he didn’t think they would have any problems moving in immediately, he didn’t want to upset John’s precarious sense of being an adult with responsibility. Whatever that was. And the idea of going on a date with John...well, who was he to complain?

“Absolutely,” he beamed and John...John beamed right back.


End file.
